


Come Back To Me

by orphan_account



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Dol Amroth, Drama, Eomer - Freeform, Eothiriel - Freeform, F/M, Good Bye, Lothiriel - Freeform, Love, Marriage, Rohan, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10076270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In the fifth year of their marriage Éomer must fulfil the Oath of Eorl and go to war, and Lothíriel says good bye to her husband.





	

“I’ll do it myself,” Followed a frustrated growl, dismissing the new attendant within a minute. It wasn’t his fault he had been fumbling with the breast plate ties, not really, he had been shaking for fear of his displeasing his lord, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Just like the last three.

The past few days had been hard on the king, and those about him had learnt to fear, or at least take into account, his temper that would come to life when under stress. It had been a week since the call of Gondor had been heard, the first time Aragorn Elessar had evoked the Oath of Eorl, and though Éomer did not begrudge his duty he was loath to enter into another war campaign, no matter how short it looked to be. Haradrim forces had been sighted in South Gondor and Elessar, not intending to have his people steeped into another war, sought to push them back before the crossed the Poros river and crossed into lands that were not deserted.

Lothíriel moved aside as the young boy passed her by where she was hovering in the doorway, nodding her head as he wordlessly bowed. He looked quite terrified, and she sympathised, though she had never feared her husband she knew how intimidating his tempers could be. Slowly entering the room she saw him near attack the stays, anger stiffening his broad shoulders and tensing his entire body.

“Let me,” She said, her palm laid between his shoulder blades in which she hoped was a comforting action and he gradually eased into her touch. He had, in the beginning of their marriage, fought his dislike of her unconscious ability to approach him without him having any sense of her presence, so quiet were her footsteps, but now it surprised him not and he had come to liken this trait to that of her rumoured elvish ancestress.

He turned to her, a questioning look on his face, but gone was the anger that must have been in his eyes moments before, and for that she was glad.

“I helped my brothers with their armour, in the war,” Lothíriel explained, her voice barely above a murmur. It was her last chance to see them before they went off on the various missions their cousin would coordinate, her last chance to say good bye.

“It won’t be like that,” Éomer promised, knowing her fears, “There won’t be another war like the last until our names are all forgotten and our bones have turned to dust,” Until the world is broken and unmade and the dark one escapes his chains, she thought, but Lothíriel kept that unease to herself.

“I know, but I shall carry a heavy heart nevertheless,” Until you are with me once more, my love, my life. Love had come so swiftly for her, when she was least expecting it. She had thought him good and comely, someone to admire, when first they courted and when they had wed she had thought what she had felt for him love of a kind unimaginable. She had not known of what desperate devotion that would overwhelm her every waking breath and the greatest of friendships she would ever experience, not then. Five years seemed such little time now that she was readying him for war, fixing the ties on his breastplate expertly and slowly moving to his arm as he extended it for her. Everything she did had it’s own prayer with it, _Elbereth, keep him safe, keep him whole_. He and his people considered Araw Tauron, Oromë the Huntsman, or Béma as they named him, foremost of the Valar, their protector and their connection with the One, but Lothíriel would be in her heart always one of Dol Amroth, and she prayed to the Queen of the Stars when she asked for the protection of her husband.

As she at last turned to face him, one last hand to glove, he smoothed his hand against her cheek, brushing aside a dark lock of hair, and she laid her lips against his hand, his palm, the inside of his wrist. _Gilthoniel, let him live, let him grow old_. She met his eyes, saw his fear and his doubt, and knew she didn't need to voice the words in her heart, he knew everything that was in her soul, knew it better than she did.

Without warning he pulled her into his embrace, and Lothíriel knew he could feel how heavy her breathing was, the battle she was fighting to keep her tears at bay. Then he bowed his head and she pressed her lips to his brow, and she lost her fight. _Ai Fanuilos! Let him know his children_ she begged, crying out with every fibre of her being to the star kindler. _Let him know our children_.

In Dol Amroth as princess she needed to be wise and kind, generous and good hearted, the counsellor of wisdom and the voice of patience and reason, and she was perfect for the role. In Rohan as queen she needed to sit beside her husband at gatherings, run the royal household and produce an heir. As a newlywed she had felt no immediate desire for a child, though she knew that time would come, but now she prayed so that she might fulfil the wishes of all, and yet this was the first challenge she had ever faced that she had not overcome with ease.

“May the grace of the Valar protect you,” Her voice was troubled by tears, tears that they felt on both their faces, and though she spoke in her Sindar tongue Éomer knew the meaning.

“May Béma reunite us,” He answered, pressing her close despite the hard metal that now encased his body. “When I return, _mīn cwēn_ , you will grow big with our child as I have promised,”

“That is all I ask, _hervenn nín_ ,” She whispered into his skin, “Come back to me, my love, come back to me and give me a son.” But most of all come back to me.

* * *

 

Mīn cwēn - My queen  
Hervenn nín - My husband


End file.
